


The War On Love Song

by cinnamon_lyons



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Erik needs rescuing, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Mutant Rights, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_lyons/pseuds/cinnamon_lyons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere between 'First Class' and 'Days of Future Past' (half of this was written before the latter came out, which inspired me to finally finish it). Erik, Raven and the remaining Hellfire Club members are fighting for mutant rights; Charles has set up his school. Meanwhile, Charles discovers some important news about Erik's past and arranges a meeting for the first time in a long while, hoping he can prevent Erik waging war on humankind...</p><p>This was inspired by a song by the Scottish band Sons & Daughters, which has lyrics by AL Kennedy. If you know the song, you'll appreciate how Charles/Erik it is. I'll post the lyrics at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles' News

Erik stood in the parking lot, under the flickering light of the motel sign, watching. The place seemed deserted, although he could see the dull glow of a lamp through the curtains of a ground floor window, three-quarters of the way along the dreary grey cube of the building. The occasional car rumbled by on the highway behind him, and he waited until there was silence before walking toward the lighted window. Not for the first time he wondered what he was doing here. He knew his followers would have warned him against it: it certainly seemed like a trap. But then, he thought as he approached the chipped brown door, rapping sharply on the wood; if it seemed that much like a trap, perhaps that was proof it wasn’t?

Still, he was on his guard as he waited for the door to open. He hadn’t told anyone exactly where he was going and why. Even Mystique, who of all people would have understood why he wanted – _needed_ – to go, to find out what Charles claimed was so important he could only tell him in person. He had got used to Raven’s new name now: had even come to rather like his own. A new name, a new beginning. Magneto was certainly less complicated than Erik Lehnsherr. Being Magneto made everything more straightforward.

But he didn’t feel like Magneto now, as the door swung slowly open and he saw Charles’ face through the gap (a little lower than he had expected it to be). He felt like...

“Erik!” Charles’ voice was anxious, relieved, and oddly (after all this time, after everything that had happened) pleased, all at the same time. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Erik shrugged slightly.

“I wasn’t sure myself.”

Charles deftly wheeled the chair back a few feet, allowing Erik into the room. Erik stepped through, onto carpet the same dirty brown as the door had been. The room was as anonymous as the motel: empty of furniture save a double bed in the centre, with faded beige blankets, and a scratched wooden sideboard. It looked like any other motel in America, instantly reminding Erik of the similarly dreary places he and Charles had stayed on several occasions during the mutant recruitment mission for the CIA, some two years ago. He shook himself, annoyed by the too-fond memories, suddenly wondering if Charles had chosen this meeting place in order to make Erik feel just that, rather resenting the fact that Charles could still manipulate him even while he was wearing the helmet. With a flick of his hand, he made the door slam shut behind him, a little louder than necessary.

They waited for a moment, in rather awkward silence, before Charles said hesitantly.

“You look well.” Erik actually laughed. Of all the bland pleasantries to initiate conversation; as if they were simply old friends who had happened to bump into each other after a couple of years apart!

“ _Really_ , Charles?” His tone was mocking. “I can’t believe you actually said that!”

Charles didn’t seem sure whether to be embarrassed or amused. His face flushed slightly, but his eyes were glinting with humour as he insisted.

“Well, you do. At least you’re not wearing that ridiculous costume!”

This was another thing that made Erik feel less like Magneto. Rather thinking the journey to an anonymous place would be safer if he actually _looked_ like everyone else, he had dressed simply: a plain navy work-shirt with notched collar, jeans, and his old leather jacket. Although the effort to blend in had been rather ruined when he’d stopped a few miles back (just to be on the safe side) to put on the helmet.

“You think I’d look better in a cardigan?” He raised an eyebrow, the air between them already seeming a little less frosty.

“How’s Raven?” Charles asked. Erik could tell that he missed her, and this made him a little awkward.

“She’s well. Happy. And it’s Mystique now, remember?”

Charles looked down, his face sad.

“Yes. I remember.”  There was silence again for a moment, and then Charles said. “Would you like a drink?” He gestured to a decanter of whiskey and some glasses on the sideboard. Erik rolled his eyes.

“This isn’t a social call, Charles. Why don’t you just tell me whatever it is you thought so important you needed to drag me out here?” Charles chewed his lip.

“I really think you should have a drink first.” He said at last. Erik sighed, but there was something about Charles’ manner that made him step over to the dresser all the same, pouring a good inch in each glass, and handing one to Charles. There weren’t any chairs in the room, so he sat down on the end of the bed, facing Charles.

“So, is this an intervention?” He guessed, swilling the whiskey around in his glass. “Do you still think you can change my mind?” Charles took a sip of his drink, his expression sorrowful.

“I know we don’t agree, my friend.” He said. “But you must realise... that last facility you destroyed... eighty-seven people died, Erik. Innocent people.” Erik’s eyes flashed.

“Do you know what they were _doing_ in that place, Charles?” Charles spread his hands.

“ _All_ of them?” He asked. Erik laughed bitterly.

“It doesn’t matter, Charles. So, you get a job making tea for an evil organisation? It still makes you an evil tea-boy!”

“Terrorism is hardly the answer-“Charles tried. Erik shrugged.

“You only call it that because our numbers are small. Soon it won’t be terrorism but open war. We’re not out to get your ever-loving government to make a few concessions to mutant-kind, you know. Didn’t that episode in Cuba make you realise? It’s kill or be killed!”

“You know I can never let that happen.” Charles sighed, rather infuriating Erik with his confidence in his own apparently superior powers.

“Are you so sure you’re on the right side?” He snapped. “You should try asking your sister, who found out what those eighty-seven oh-so-innocent people were doing! Do you remember Hank’s idea that he could ‘cure’ them both by creating a vaccine? They want to eradicate us, Charles! How can you be so blind?” Charles shook his head stubbornly.

“They see you as a threat because you act like one, my friend.” He insisted.

“And what about the other mutants we found there? The shape-shifter that the authorities thought was the key to their- their _virus_ , just like Hank suggested Raven was? It was your sister who found her, you know. She was still alive, but only just. She begged us to kill her.” He paused, choked with anger and frustration. “In the end, that’s all we _could_ do.”

Charles swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat at this, but he wasn’t about to back down. He needed Erik to agree with him; Erik _ought_ to agree with him!

“I can’t believe things could be quite that bad without me knowing about it, Erik.” He said, his voice rather clipped. Erik snorted, getting to his feet and slamming his empty glass down.

“Do you really think I’m the only person who can find a way to block you out, Charles?” His gaze was rather too direct for Charles’ comfort, and Charles looked away, wondering why he hadn’t actually thought of that possibility before. Perhaps he _had_ got a little arrogant without Erik around! Erik shook his head, exasperated. “I don’t know what I even thought you might have to say that would interest me!” He started towards the door, the latch flicking downward as he approached.

“Erik, wait!” Charles said, his tone so strident that Erik actually paused, turning back to look at him, the lock depressed but the door still.

“What?” He said curtly.

Charles had rehearsed saying this a thousand times, trying to think of how it would come easiest to Erik. But none of those plans had counted on the revelation following immediately from an argument so, in the end, he simply blurted it out.

“Erik, it’s your father. He’s still alive.”

*

Erik stood frozen, the silence hanging heavy after Charles’ words, sudden and immense following the voices raised in altercation. The click as the latch on the door dropped down sounded like a gunshot, louder than it should have been. Charles couldn’t read Erik’s expression, his face half-obscured by the helmet, but his words were almost bewildered.

“He can’t be.” He stuttered awkwardly, taking a shaky step back towards the bed and sinking down onto it, shaking his head. “It’s not possible!” He put a hand to his head, and it clunked awkwardly against a helmet that, for a moment, he had clearly somehow forgotten he was wearing. “Stupid fucking thing!” He snapped. Charles tried to smile, but his brow was anxiously furrowed.

“You can take it off, Erik.” He said. “I promise I would never- I won’t touch you.” Erik gave him a searching stare for a moment, and then he heaved a sigh and tilted his head, easing the helmet off and placing it on the bed beside him.

Despite not making any attempt to read him, Charles couldn’t help but feel Erik’s guilt, stronger than any other emotion so that it rolled in waves across the room. Charles shifted his chair a little closer, wanting to reach out to Erik but not quite daring.

“It can’t be true.” Erik said again. “I thought I _knew_...” He pressed his knuckles painfully against his forehead, as if it would help his thoughts to organise themselves. Then he looked up suddenly. “How do you know this? You- you found him?” Charles nodded.

“It was all a strange coincidence.” He explained. “We’re always reaching out to other mutants, taking in those who need – and _want_ – our help.” He realised he’d made the “want” a little too strident, and winced, but Erik didn’t seem to have noticed, waiting for him to go on. “Anyway, I’d picked up on a young man in Detroit who was in trouble – he can manipulate the sun’s rays with rather spectacular results, by the way. Alex and I went up there to talk to him. We knew his rough location, so we were walking past an automobile plant where he was supposed to work, while I had a look through some of the people inside. And then...”

Charles swallowed: this was the important bit. “I found a mind I somehow _recognised._ ” He shook his head, still finding it bewildering. “I knew it wasn’t the boy we were searching for, but it intrigued me – I didn’t know what it meant. There was something about some of the thought patterns... They seemed familiar somehow, so I looked a little deeper.” Charles chewed his lip, looking awkward. “I felt rather as if I shouldn’t be doing it, because his memories seemed to be packed down so tightly under a general veil of- of _sadness_. There was something he didn’t want to remember, but knew he should never forget.” Charles paused for a second, glancing up to see how Erik was taking this. “When I uncovered the fact that his wife and son had died in Auschwitz, everything fell into place.”

Erik remained motionless as Charles spoke, staring directly at him, eyes glistening.

“He thinks I’m dead?” He didn’t question Charles’ story. “Shit...” He shook his head again, swallowing hard. “I never even looked for him, Charles.” His voice cracked with pain. “I just assumed...” He broke off.

Charles found himself reaching out, without even thinking about it this time, laying a comforting hand on Erik’s knee, fingers just brushing Erik’s own.

“You couldn’t have known.” He assured Erik. “It’s not your fault. He thinks it’s _his_ fault, you know: that he should never have survived and tried to start again when you didn’t.” Charles let his hand slide over Erik’s, fingers interlaced. “Remember when I told you that killing Shaw would not bring you peace?” He squeezed Erik’s hand. “Perhaps finding your father _will_.”

Erik frowned, gazing down at himself.

“What if he-“ He paused for a second, then his words came fast and urgent. “Fuck it, Charles, it’s been twenty years! What if he doesn’t like the man I’ve become?”  He still didn’t look up. Charles managed a sad smile.

“Erik, I told you how I found him. It was because he reminded me of _you_.” Charles reached out, tilting Erik’s chin up so that he was looking into his eyes again, seated so close now that their knees were pressed together. “A little less anger, perhaps. A little more wretchedness. But not much.” He smiled hesitantly. “You’re both good men.”

Erik twisted his head away, his words more helpless than angry. “Good, evil, what does that even mean? There are no moral absolutes, Charles. One man’s righteous anger is another man’s terrorism – if we’ve learned nothing else from each other we should at least have learned that!” Charles nodded.

“That’s true, of course. But you should know that I still believe that of you, in spite of everything. In spite of all our differences.”

Erik bit his lip, but he didn’t say anything, eyes fixed on Charles once more, pleading reassurance. A single tear rolled down his cheek. And the only reassurance Charles could think of was to kiss him. He leant forward, his fingers reaching round to brush the back of Erik’s neck, pulling him closer until their lips met.

Erik didn’t resist as Charles kissed him, just parted his lips slightly in a sigh. And then, as Charles let his tongue flick over Erik’s mouth, Erik was kissing him back, their faces pressed together, Charles’ fingers curling in the soft hair at the nape of Erik’s neck. Charles felt the back of his own neck tingle, a soft shiver running through him as their tongues met, brushing against each other. And he knew that they both needed this comfort, that his words were more than true, that despite everything that had happened he still loved Erik. He wondered, for a brief moment, how he could still feel so close to a man who had killed so many people – innocent people... But, in another moment, as the kiss showed no sign of ending, he forgot Erik’s crimes entirely.

Finally, they pulled away from each other, gasping. Charles leant forward, hand resting on Erik’s thigh. Erik looked down at Charles’ hand, then back up at his face and laughed.

“Well, that was certainly an unusual seduction technique, Charles.” He said lightly, and it was the first time that evening Charles had seen the smile reach his eyes.

“I can assure you I didn’t plan on things going quite that way!” Charles laughed.

“No?” Erik raised an eyebrow, his eyes dancing. “You disappoint me.” Charles wondered, briefly, if Erik had been with anyone else in the two years since Shaw’s death or if, as in Charles’ case, there had seemed so much to do that sex really hadn’t been that high up the agenda, and the occasional wank just to check everything was still working (perhaps more of a concern for Charles) had generally seemed sufficient.

 

Suddenly, this really wasn’t the case anymore, and Charles was horribly aware of the ache in his balls, his cock packed hard into his trousers. He licked his lips, mouth feeling dry. Erik tilted his head thoughtfully, patting the bed.

“Care to join me?” He asked. Charles nodded, rather clumsily shifting the wheelchair back a little to turn it around, too aroused to be completely co-ordinated. Erik said, “Allow me?”

“I _can_ manage, Erik.” Charles’ words were rather clipped. Erik shrugged.

“I know.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I just thought it would be fun.” Charles laughed, the tension gone.

“Go on then, you have a point!”

And it _was_ quite fun, he had to admit, as the chair slowly left the floor, gliding through the air round to the side of the bed. He was very glad that he had resisted Hank’s insistent pleas to design him a non-metal chair. He had felt it showed a certain trust to turn up in the usual one, knowing that, whatever happened, Erik wouldn’t try and use it to hurt him.

Erik couldn’t resist giving the chair a playful little spin, and Charles rolled his eyes at him, laughing, rather eager to actually get onto the bed so that he wasn’t disappointed when Erik tilted the chair at a convenient angle, making for rather less tension in Charles’ arms than usual as he pulled himself over beside Erik.

Eyes still dancing, Erik returned the chair to the floor soundlessly, grinning widely at Charles. He seemed so different, suddenly, Charles realised. As if, despite the shock and guilt and confusion, hearing that his father was still alive had restored his hope, his faith that there was something more to life than destruction.

He initiated the kiss this time, brushing Charles’ hair off his cheek and letting his fingers run along his jaw line as they leaned back together onto the pillows. Unaware that his own optimism had faded through the years, Charles found that he felt different too, as if time had melted away. Everything about Erik was so familiar – his touch, his taste his smell – that Charles wondered for a second if they were back in Westchester and the past two years had never even happened, barely even registering the fact that he couldn’t feel Erik’s weight on his legs as Erik rolled over to straddle him, lying half on top of Charles to kiss him again.

Charles ran his hands over the tight denim on Erik’s buttocks, letting his fingers push up the back of Erik’s shirt, feeling warm skin beneath them. Erik himself seemed to be trying to undo Charles’ cardigan and shirt at the same time, simultaneously planting open-mouthed kisses on Charles’ neck, pressing his face close against him. Charles moaned, shifting his hands to Erik’s hips, pulling him closer so that the bulge in Erik’s trousers pressed against his own groin. He found himself wondering why on earth they had waited two years for this: not having sex suddenly seemed even more ridiculous than being enemies!

While Charles was thinking this, Erik had finally managed to distract himself from kissing Charles for long enough to strip off the shirt he’d been fumbling with, hands running in sweeping arcs across Charles’ chest. He rose up a little on his knees, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it carelessly to one side. Charles gazed up at him, running a finger teasingly around the outline of Erik’s cock, clearly visible in his trousers. Erik laughed, and then suddenly lunged back down to kiss Charles again, more urgently this time, grinding himself against him. Charles moaned desperately into Erik’s mouth as Erik raised his body to wriggle out of his jeans, underwear snagging on his erection. Charles grappled with his own fly, starting to ease his trousers down, but Erik was already dragging them off by the legs. He grinned, letting his eyes range over Charles’ naked body before he was back on top of him, hands seeming to roam everywhere at once. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, desire coursing through him, making an inarticulate murmur as Erik’s fingers reached his cock.

“What do you want, Charles?” Erik asked, a little breathlessly. Charles moistened his lips, eyes bright with desire as he gazed up at Erik. Charles couldn’t think of anything – not his reason for being here, not the troubled past nor the uncertain future – other than a desperate desire to have Erik inside him, a desire that burnt its way forcefully in jagged yearning images from Charles’ mind to Erik’s. Erik grinned, mouth half open, clearly enjoying Charles’ thoughts.

“Tell me.” He hissed, sliding a hand beneath Charles to run his fingers down the cleft between Charles’ buttocks, rubbing tantalisingly against him. “Say it!”

“I want you to fuck me.” He gasped. “Just... fuck me!” Erik kissed him again, slowly sliding a finger inside Charles as he did so.

“Mm, I know...” He said softly, pushing another finger up so agonisingly slowly that Charles thought he would explode well before Erik rolled him over onto his front on the bed, making sure he was lying comfortably before his fingers were replaced by his cock, nudging against Charles before sliding deep inside.

Charles could feel Erik’s breath, warm on the back of his neck, Erik’s hands on his shoulders as he started to move inside him. He was pleased to find that he could still feel every inch of Erik’s cock, it seemed, although his efforts to bend his knees and push himself up towards Erik were entirely futile. Erik seemed to realise this (or maybe Charles had projected – he was too turned on to be sure), and he grabbed onto Charles’ hips, pulling him up a little so that he could thrust deeper into him.

Charles groaned, eyes screwed shut in the intensity of the feelings coursing through him. He gasped into the pillows, mouth open against the fabric, wanting Erik deeper and harder and sending every such thought direct to his lover’s brain.

“Oh God...” he murmured aloud, “Erik...”

And, after all this time, it wasn’t long before they both came – Charles finding a moment of relief that he could feel Erik ejaculate deep inside him as his own orgasm burst onto the off-white sheets.

*

                Afterwards, Charles felt as if he were in a dream. Everything was warm and hazy, and the dull brown room transfigured by silvery moonlight sneaking under the curtains. He tried to shift round onto his side so that he could see Erik properly, but his movements were tired and clumsy. Erik smiled, rolling over himself so that he could pull Charles towards him, lying with one arm draped casually across Charles’ chest. He rested his head for a moment in the curve of Charles’ shoulder. He seemed vulnerable again, almost uncertain, although still coasting on the afterglow of orgasm. Charles knew that Erik was wondering, as he should himself, where this left them. He breathed in deeply, not wanting to think right now about his own dilemma, just close his eyes and lose himself in Erik. Erik sighed softly: like Charles, he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace between them. He kissed Charles’ shoulder and, eventually, they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

When Charles woke, in the grey pre-dawn light, he knew that it was already too late. His mind took a moment to catch up with the presence of the naked body curled against his, but then the realisation hit him with the full horror of what he had done. Could he change things now? Erik stirred against him, and Charles was still trying to decide what to say when Erik rolled away from him rather abruptly.

“Erik?” He said at last, raising himself up on one elbow to look helplessly at Erik’s back, now turned against him where Erik sat on the edge of the bed.

“I should go.” Erik said, and Charles could tell immediately just how many emotions warred against one another in his words. “Before it gets too light.” He sat motionless for a second, and then reached out for his clothes, still not looking at Charles as he began to dress.

Charles pulled himself up awkwardly into a sitting position, only realising now as he gazed around in the uncomfortable morning-after atmosphere just how unfortunate the wild flinging of clothes in the abandons of passion had been. Plus Erik had left the chair just that little bit too far from the bed. Charles reached out all the same, feeling frustrated. Why couldn’t he damn well be telekinetic as well as telepathic?! Erik finally turned round while buttoning his shirt.

“Here, let me.” He nudged the chair closer without approaching Charles himself, and then retrieved Charles’ scattered clothes without another word, depositing them in a pile on the bed. Then he pulled on his jacket and stood, rather awkwardly, in the middle of the room while Charles dressed. Eventually, he said.

“My father, Charles?” Charles nodded, engrossed for the moment in the feat of getting back into the wheelchair without a handrail (he rather thought, as he finally made it, that Erik might have shifted the chair to make it easier for him, but if he had then the movement had been so subtle that Charles couldn’t tell for sure).

He took a moment to catch his breath, and then wheeled himself over to Erik, who gave an uncertain smile.

“Do you mind if I-? It would be easiest to...” Charles gestured towards Erik’s head, knowing his meaning was obvious. Erik nodded slowly.

Charles reached out with his mind, tentatively at first, trying to avoid the tangled clouds of emotion that seemed to surround Erik. He had made this far harder than it needed to be. But it was too late now to wonder whether to go through with it at all. Erik was plainly leaving, and there would not be another opportunity. He would make it kind.

Charles filtered through his own thoughts for Erik’s father’s memories and gave them to Erik. Of where he lived and worked. Of how he had survived Auschwitz, as so many had – Erik included – because his skills (as a mechanic) had been useful to the Nazis. Of how he had never stopped feeling guilty for surviving, even as he had struggled to get away from the memories: trekking to Russia first, when the camps were liberated, then back through Poland to Germany, searching endlessly for his wife and son until at last he had no choice other than to assume that they were dead. Of how he had tried to start a new life in America in the boom of the fifties. Of how his old life never seemed that far away. Of how lonely he was...

If Erik wondered why Charles was giving him quite so much detail, he didn’t question it. But then, he could no longer move, frozen in place, bending slightly forward towards Charles’ wheelchair. Charles backed away slightly, suddenly feeling nauseous.

_I’m sorry, old friend._ He thought. _But I can’t let this go on any longer. I can’t let anyone else die._

He let part of his mind drift away, searching through the motel rooms above for Jack Brookman, the CIA Agent who had been his contact.

_He’s secure_. He told Jack, and then he sat back and waited for the tramp of feet outside; trying not to imagine that he could see the shock of betrayal in Erik’s eyes, because he knew it _was_ imaginary. Erik hadn’t had the time to think anything of the kind. He backed further away across the room, feeling rather like Judas Iscariot (only Judas had only _kissed_ Jesus!), as the agents finally entered.

“Good work, Professor.” Brookman said, as one of his men deftly slid a needle into Erik’s neck, tranquilising him, which was a relief on two counts. Erik’s mind had been quite a strain to hold on to, not least because Charles’ doubts as to whether he was doing the right thing seemed to be growing, and the temptation to let Erik escape (there really _was_ a chance that finding his father might change everything!) had been rapidly increasing. Charles shook himself, trying to focus on Brookman, and not the fact that, behind him, the other CIA men were securely binding Erik with rope (handcuffs, naturally, were not a good idea).

“He won’t be harmed in any way?” Charles asked solemnly. Brookman gave Charles a disbelieving look, suggesting that he himself would happily see Erik hung, drawn and quartered for what he had done, but nonetheless Charles knew he wasn’t lying when he said.

“The CIA has given you our guarantee, Professor, and we will keep to it.”

“And the address I gave you – his father – you’ll contact him?” Charles persisted. “Allow him to visit?”

“That’s not really my call.” Brookman looked a little frustrated, thinking Charles was getting rather too sentimental about a murderer and terrorist. “I’ll do my best.” He said, meaning it, as he held out a hand to shake Charles’. “We owe you, Professor. I doubt we’d ever have captured America’s most wanted man if not for you.”

Charles nodded. He was aware of that. And also aware of the fact that Brookman had wondered – but not asked – what had taken quite so long. He chewed his lip, watching as the agents carried the bound and unconscious Erik out into the muted dawn light, and he reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. This was the only way to stop the slaughter, the war that Erik wanted. It was undeniable that he had betrayed Erik – and betrayed him particularly cruelly, at that – but that was hardly comparable with Erik’s own crimes.

Nonetheless, Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, what he had done was _worse_.


	2. Captivity

Erik’s eyelids flickered, and it was a struggle to keep them open – and then another struggle to see anything in the dim light around him. His head ached, and he felt sluggish – unable to piece together the memories to try and figure out where he was and why. He tried to raise a hand to his skull, but couldn’t seem to move them, and it took a while longer for him to work out that he was tied down: to connect the rough, scratching feel at his wrists with rope. He was bound so tight he could hardly move, cord taut across his chest and upper arms as well as his wrists and ankles. But that was ok. If he could just find something to cut with...

Although he couldn’t really see anything other than dull shapes in the room, he cast his mind out, knowing that if there was anything metal nearby he would instantly be attracted to it, but he couldn’t seem to get hold of anything. It hurt, anyway: it was too much effort, and he was too tired... Gritting his teeth, Erik forced himself to try again. Nothing. The table beneath him felt like wood, covered in some kind of stiff material: oilcloth, perhaps. And, although he could now just about see that objects were ranged on shelves and counters along the wall, nothing seemed to be metallic. He tried to reach further, beyond the room, but didn’t seem to be able to. Maybe if he rested for a moment?

And suddenly it hit him, full force: a dreadful moment of clarity. There would be no metal in the room because he had been taken prisoner by people who knew full well the extent of his powers. He had been brought here – wherever here was – in the cold light of dawn by government forces he knew full well were his enemies. And _Charles_! He thought, with sudden sickening lucidity. Charles had let it happen. No, more than that! Charles had disarmed him with the news about his father (had that even been true, he wondered?), had _sex_ with him, and then had held him still while the CIA or whoever he was working for now came to collect him. That was manipulative, even for Charles!

Erik wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there when he heard a quiet click, and a ceiling full of fluorescent strip lights suddenly burst into a brightness so intense and unexpected that he screwed his eyes shut automatically, and then struggled to open them again in the painful glare, wanting to remain alert to any impending threat. He heard the soft sound of rubber-soled footsteps, just out of his field of vision, and twisted his head as far as he was able, eyes darting about in an effort to see something – _anything_!

He wasn’t able to see his captors until they were standing right over him – for there turned out to be two rubber-booted people. They looked identical, save for the fact that one was slightly taller than the other. Both were dressed in blue canvas overalls, and both faces were obscured with a surgical mask. Two sets of dark brown eyes gazed impassively down at Erik, as his own eyes flicked from side to side, from one figure to the other.

“Where am I?” Erik asked, his voice a little hoarser than he had expected. The figures continued to stare in silence, so Erik coughed and tried again, with more authority this time. “Tell me where I am!”

The brown eyes flicked up to focus on each other for a moment, then the shorter figure gave a barely perceptible nod, and each simultaneously raised an arm. They were both holding knives, but not like any Erik had ever seen. It took him a moment to realise that the smooth, black blades were ceramic. Feeling panicked, he reached out with his power again, mind racing. There must be metal _somewhere_! There had to be something they had overlooked. A screw perhaps? In the table? No. The shelves along the wall? Erik was starting to feel hysterical, trying to reach further but still somehow blocked from doing so, even though his mind was a little sharper now.

Erik didn’t stop trying, even as the cruel blades came down towards him. Even though he knew by now it was hopeless, knew that this had been planned far too carefully for a stray nail or bolt or metal fastening to have been left to chance. He didn’t seem to be wearing his jacket, or he certainly could have managed _something_ with the zip. In fact, he now realised, he was wearing only his shirt and his underpants. And, the next moment, he realised that the two silent surgeons were cutting even these garments off him.

They were careful not to harm him, slicing with practised dexterity around the ropes to avoid having to loosen them, cutting his clothes off in ragged shreds. Somehow this seemed, for a moment, even more menacing than if they had used the knives on his skin. They worked slowly, methodically, giving Erik plenty of him to watch every movement; plenty of time to wonder what they would do to him when he was finally naked. He tried to remain calm, to smother the growing panicked fury that threatened to overwhelm him. He stared fixedly from one to the other, memorising what little he could see of their faces, thinking: _I will kill you when I can._

And then they had finished, taking a step back so that they were half outside Erik’s field of vision. The room was slightly too cold – not uncomfortably so, but enough to make Erik feel even more exposed, his nudity making him unpleasantly aware of his vulnerability.

“What do you intend to do to me?” He challenged them. The pair looked at each other again, but they didn’t answer him. He heard a slight clink as each laid his knife to one side.

“Who do you work for?” Erik demanded. But this time they simply turned away, and Erik heard the soft footsteps retreating as they moved out of sight.

There was another muted click, and the room was plunged into darkness once again. Erik was left in pitch darkness: naked, helpless and bound to a table. He swallowed, not able to convince himself of the bravado with which he had spoken to his captors. He knew what this place was – knew what _he_ was now. What, he thought dully, the man he loved had done to him.

Erik was a lab rat once again.

**

Charles felt numb. He hadn’t spoken to the driver on the long journey back to Westchester – instead, he had found himself reaching out several times to try and check where Brooks and the CIA men were, to be sure that Erik was still alive and well – until the party had been too far away for him to pick them out. And then he had sat, in a state of dull emptiness, trying to comprehend what he had done; trying to defend himself against his own accusations. Having sex with Erik had rather complicated matters. It had certainly not been part of the plan! To have sex with him and then betray him: yes, that was low, Charles could certainly admit to that. Would he feel this bad if he had behaved more honourably, he wondered? He thought of the way Erik had taken the news of his father: of how different he had seemed after learning the man was still alive... Charles hadn’t really anticipated that. He had thought, perhaps, that after all this time Erik would be too far gone. And what had Charles done now? Given Erik hope only to snatch it away again?

No! He told himself furiously. Erik had to be punished for his crimes: that was the only way he might understand that what he had been doing was wrong. The _only_ way he could be redeemed, could start again. He would still have the opportunity to see his father: it was up to Erik what he made of that opportunity. And Charles had other loyalties than to the man who had effectively been his enemy for two years: who had sought every chance to destroy the fragile trust that Charles was building between mutants and humans. Every human Erik had murdered had reflected back on Charles; every facility Erik had destroyed had strained relations between the government and the school still further. To put Erik behind bars (figuratively speaking, of course!): that was the only way forward.

And he tried to set everything in the context of this bigger picture, tried to ignore how much still lay in an ideological power struggle between himself and Erik. Would he have betrayed Raven like this? No, Charles knew that he would not. But it wasn’t her fault! She was only following Erik! Even he knew that was a poor excuse.

He looked up to see the car sweep round into the drive in front of the school. Whatever the rights and wrongs of what he had done, it was done and that had to be an end to it. He had other responsibilities: he had the school, he had to begin to repair the damage Erik had done in Colorado...

He had to stop obsessing over his past with Erik and start thinking about the future.

**

When Magneto didn’t return at the time he had said he would, Mystique immediately began to worry. She had known it was a bad idea for him to go traipsing off on his own so soon after Colorado, and the fact that he had refused point blank to say where he was going had indicated that he too knew he was being reckless. But she had known him long enough to be aware there was no point in trying to argue with him. He was just like Charles, she thought in exasperation (though she had not, of course, told him so): bloody stubborn!

Still, he knew how to take care of himself, of course, so she had merely worried and hoped he’d be all right, and tried to occupy herself as best she could playing cards with Azazel, who had become her closest confederate among the Brotherhood. He was a mutant of few words, while she liked to talk, so it was a good partnership. And this meant that it was to him she turned when Magneto was late.

“I’m worried about him.” She confided, chewing her lower lip. “He should be back by now.”

“It is only one hour, yes?” Azazel knew immediately who she was talking about. He smiled, trying to be reassuring although his clipped, harshly accented words did not convey this. “I think we will not send out the search party yet.” Mystique nodded, and then she glanced around, uncertain whether to admit the thing that worried her the most. Finally she leaned forward, lowering her tone.

“I know it’s silly. I know it’s too early to worry, but...” Her brow wrinkled anxiously. “I can’t help wondering why he took the helmet with him.” Azazel shrugged, not seeing the significance.

“Perhaps he does not wish our Miss Frost to know his plans?” He suggested. Mystique rolled her eyes. Her opinion of Emma was not high: she thought her two-faced and somewhat old-fashioned.

“Like she’d _dare_!” She said scornfully. “Anyway, he wasn’t actually wearing it when he left.” Azazel caught the gist of what she was getting at.

“So, you think he is after the Professor?” Mystique did a double take at his words, and then realised he meant “after” in a rather different way than she’d first assumed. She shook her head.

“Magneto would never _hurt_ Charles!” She said, horrified. Azazel looked confused.

“But they are enemies.” He protested. Mystique sighed. She had this problem with all of the Brotherhood. They saw things in such black and white: good/evil; human/mutant; ally/enemy.

“It’s more complicated than that.” She said, ignoring his sceptical expression. Azazel shrugged.

“Well then, surely if it is as you say, your Professor will not hurt Magneto either.” Mystique pulled a face, although she couldn’t fault his logic. Was she really so suspicious of her brother now? It was true, wasn’t it? Charles would never hurt Erik. Not intentionally, anyway. She sighed again. Azazel patted her shoulder kindly.

“We leave it until tonight, yes? If he is not returned by then, we start to look for him.” He said. Mystique nodded, unusually silent. Azazel was right. She had no cause to worry. Magneto would be fine.

**

Erik’s thought he might have been there for hours, lying naked in the dark, but he had no real means of judging the time: of whether it was morning, noon or night outside this sterile chamber. He tried to remain alert, but it was hard to stay constantly on edge, and he still had the remnants of whatever sedative they had given him circulating around his system. So it may have been that he had actually dozed off for a moment when he was suddenly jolted conscious again by the lights surging back on. He squinted in the glare, forcing himself not to think about what might happen now – what they would _do_ to him now. Instead, he focused on his usual scan for metal. So long as he always remembered to check, one day they would slip up. But there was nothing: not even the filling in a tooth. He gave a sharp hiss of frustration.

The man who had entered laughed – no, giggled was a better description of the sound. Erik couldn’t see him, but he could tell that he was close, just out of his eyeline.

“You won’t find anything.” The stranger’s words tailed off into another, rather tinkling laugh.

“Who are you?” Erik demanded, made rather abrupt by the other’s amused tone.

“Oh, Erik Lehnsherr, it is so very easy to make you impotent, is it not?” The voice teased, in lilting tones, but with a cruel, triumphant edge. “You think you have such power, but right now you have nothing. Do you realise that even they could do whatever they wanted to you? The _humans_?” The slight stress on the final words was clearly meant to pique Erik’s interest, and it did.

“You’re not human?” He asked, rising to the bait. The only response was another giggle. There was a pause, and then his captor spoke again.

“You are too dangerous, Mr Lehnsherr – the _great_ Magneto!” The tone was sarcastic. “You are far more dangerous to _us_ than your pitiful band of mutants could ever be to the entire human race, with its roots stuck deep into this accursed planet. So, we are in agreement, your government and I. You cannot be allowed to live.” He giggled again. “In fact, they demand that you do not! Everyone requires your blood to be shed as a matter of justice.” There was a short gleeful pause. “And, in the event, your blood and your body may well be useful to me.”

Erik swallowed hard, still unable to see his captor. He was aware now that the situation was more complicated than he had first thought, and he said hesitantly.

“So, the CIA gave me to you? And where do you fit in? Some kind of mutant investigative outfit...?” He said slowly, thinking aloud. The voice was musically mocking.

“Did you and your beloved Professor really think that you were the first mutants to gain the support of the American government? The Mutant Division – ha!” The laugh was colder now. “Can you really be so naive as to assume that nothing of the kind existed before?” Erik swallowed again. He had to admit that he hadn’t really thought about it. But, of course, there had also been Shaw’s involvement with the Nazis, and his later efforts to play the Americans and Russians off against each other. It was hardly likely that Shaw had been the only mutant to ever create such a stir.

“Who are you?” He asked. His jailor didn’t answer but took a step closer, so that Erik could finally see him – or was it a her? He frowned, unable to decide how to classify the rather formless body in front of him: slim and straight, but with just a hint of curve at the hips under tightly fitted overalls. A badge pinned to the front was unhelpful in the extreme – _Dr. A. Fischer_ , it proclaimed. Unlike Erik’s previous visitors, this one did not wear a surgical mask, so that he could clearly see a blank, almost featureless face: square-jawed but with long dark lashes brushing grey-tinted cheeks. The creature had no other hair, not even eyebrows. It looked almost human... but not quite. Dr Fischer tilted its head, mouth twisting in a thin-lipped smile.

“I know what you are thinking, Erik Lehnsherr.” It said softly, and Erik wondered whether this was a turn of phrase or if the mutant was a telepath. “You are trying to decide where I would fit in your _brother_ hood.” It sneered the first two syllables. “Just as the humans do, you are determined to classify me. Why are you all so sure of your evolutionary path, that such a foolish thing will remain important? Perhaps, after all, to be male or female is not necessary.” It laughed again. “You all love your binary classifications, do you not? Male or female; human or mutant; us and them – it seems so beautifully simple!”

Erik bit his lip, his captor’s words striking a chord for a moment. What had Charles said? _We have it in us to be the better men!_ And all Erik had really done since then was to reflect the worst of humanity back upon itself. In waging a war for mutantkind, he had become closer to human than he could be entirely comfortable with. He frowned. Now was hardly the time for introspection. Now was the time to fight!

Dr Fischer shook its head, regarding him thoughtfully for a moment.

“But now, to business.” It said, and the lilt of its voice made the solemnity of the words even more chilling as it flicked open a shining black blade – not, of course, metal once again – in the shape of a straight razor. Erik swallowed.

“What are you going to do to me?” He tried to keep his voice just the right side of belligerent, but he’d been in this position before and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit. The doctor’s wide mouth twisted a little.

“I’m going to shave your head.” It explained, almost smirking. “You should be used to this, yes?” The bile rose up in Erik’s throat. Maybe Dr Fischer _was_ a mind-reader.  He choked a little, a bitter taste in his mouth as his captor disappeared behind him. He felt the sudden shock of cold water on his head, then the blade close against his scalp. He closed his eyes, a tear squeezing out beneath his eyelids, mingling in the soapy water flowing down his cheeks.

This, Erik knew, was only the beginning.


	3. The Alliance

 

There was a knock on the door of Charles’ study, but then Alex shoved it open anyway, before Charles even had time to answer. Probably for the best, Charles had thought: it prevented him coming up with an excuse to deny Alex entry. He had been rather insular over the past few weeks, and both staff and students at the school had wondered why: but none had Charles’ gifts, so they’d been unable to find out. There had been a few concerned queries, of course, but Charles was practiced in the art of misdirection, so mostly he had been left alone.

Despite this, he managed a weak smile at Alex and the small, pig-tailed child traipsing in behind him. She barely looked twelve, and the seeming absence of any parent or guardian was a bad sign. Another runaway, who would have to be kindly returned home. Charles sighed a little. At least her problems would be a distraction from his own for a little while.

“This is Lara.” Alex explained. “She says she found the school using her gifts, but she won’t reveal them to anyone but you.” Lara smiled shyly: a childish, gap-toothed grin that made her look even younger.

“My parents were afraid of me.” She said, hesitantly. “They tried to send me to a hospital, but I knew there was nothing wrong with me.” She approached Charles’ desk, her eyes warm and trusting. “I knew there had to be somewhere else I could go. Somewhere I’d fit in.” Charles nodded.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do, my dear?” He said kindly. Lara turned her head slightly, directing an anxious glance toward Alex. Charles nodded understanding.

“Alex, you’d better leave us.” He said. Alex looked disappointed (he always enjoyed the big reveal) but he did as he was asked, closing the door quietly behind him. Lara didn’t say anything, and Charles regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” He asked. The girl shrugged – a gesture at odds with her childlike simplicity – and her skin rippled. To Charles’ surprise, she chose not her natural, blue form but the blond-haired sister he had grown up with.

“When did you realise?” Mystique asked him. No, he couldn’t think of her as Mystique, especially not when she looked like that. Raven. Charles frowned. He thought he knew why she was there, but he still respected his promise not to see for sure.

“Not until you spoke.” He admitted. “I wouldn’t have read a student without their prior consent. But I guess you knew that.” His brow furrowed even further. “But then when you began your explanation, it jarred somehow. It was obvious the appearance and the words didn’t fit together.” Raven sat down in a chair opposite him, smoothing her hair behind an ear as if it were the most natural movement in the world.

“I never intended to fool you.” She said. “I just needed to get far enough so that I could see you.”

“So, how can I help you Raven?” Charles tried to keep his words carefully measured, even though he knew full well what this was about – _who_ it was about. He just didn’t know how much she knew about his own involvement.

“It’s Magneto – Erik, I mean.” She corrected herself quickly, obviously intending to remind him of past friendships. Charles struggled not to betray his guilt, to keep his face a mask.

“He’s where he deserves to be.” He wasn’t quite sure he managed to sound confident enough. Raven narrowed her eyes at his tone.

“Where you put him?” She guessed shrewdly. Charles carefully made his voice more measured.

“I had a hand in the arrest of a mass murderer, yes.” Even he was aware his words were unnecessarily pious. Raven frowned.

“I knew he must be going to see you.” She said, an undertone of anger in her words. “Which means, Charles, that he never expected you to betray him.” She paused, and Charles hung his head a little. “Tell me, Charles,” Raven went on, “How did you get him to remove the helmet?” Unwittingly, she had asked just the right question to make Charles lose his composure entirely and he reddened, spluttering something that didn’t quite make it into words. Raven was annoyingly perceptive: far more than he remembered her being two years back. Her eyes widened in horrified comprehension.

“You _seduced_ him?!” She exclaimed, the words so strident that he winced.

“I wouldn’t exactly put it like that...” He protested. Raven shook her head, looking disgusted.

“You think you’re so superior, don’t you?” She snapped. “You do realise that Erik would _never_ have done such a thing to you?” Charles frowned. No, he wasn’t sure of that at all. And his own mistakes paled into insignificance beside Erik’s!

“I hardly think that handing a wanted man over to the authorities so that proper legal proceedings can be followed is on a par with murdering eighty-seven innocent people.” Charles managed to more or less regain his composure. Raven’s eyes flashed yellow.

“Legal proceedings?” She echoed. “Just where do you think Erik is?”

“Prison – where he belongs!” Charles’ words were a little hesitant. Obviously she knew something he didn’t. Raven rolled her eyes.

“How can you be so naive, Charles?” She asked, incredulously. “You witnessed a fair trial, did you?” Charles frowned.

“Don’t be silly, Raven.” He said. “It’s only been a month. They’ll still be preparing the case...” He faltered to a stop, unable to blunder on when it was clear she knew full well where Erik was. “The CIA gave me a guarantee he wouldn’t be harmed.” He said, rather plaintively. Raven sighed in exasperation.

“Oh, and the government has _such_ a great track record of not killing mutants!” She said sarcastically.

“He- he’s not-?” Charles stammered, but thankfully she shook her head.

“As far as I know he’s still alive.” She said. “When he didn’t return, we followed his trail. It took us a long time, but eventually we tracked him to a huge facility in Denver. We heard rumours of the place when we liberated Colorado. They were the stuff of nightmares, Charles.” She shivered, and for a second she looked like the vulnerable girl he remembered. “The worst of it is that Colorado gave them all our secrets. It was Erik who ensured it was a success, but when we finally managed to get some of the plans for the bunker in Denver we found it had been constructed without any metal at all.” She bit her lip. “Still worse, they have some kind of scanner in place that works against our mutations – we don’t know exactly how, but Azazel tried to teleport inside and was barely able to move for two days. We gave them all our tricks, and they built safeguards against them!”

Raven was no longer angry. Instead, she sounded like the scared and lonely child he had first encountered stealing food from his kitchen. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but didn’t quite dare. “I’ve seen what they do first-hand, Charles.” She looked down, tears brimming in her eyes. “Erik’s locked up in there, vivisected and experimented on and... and there’s nothing I can do to save him!”

Charles swallowed, feeling sick. But he still couldn’t quite believe what she was telling him. Erik had always had a way of emphasising the bad in anything, and he had got Raven looking for it now too. He shook his head.

“It can’t be true...” He murmured.

“If I can prove it to you, will you help?” Raven’s words were heartfelt. “We can’t save Erik without you, Charles.” Dumbly, Charles nodded.

**

Azazel, waiting outside the mansion, was quite impressed at the speed with which Mystique managed to extract the professor and his beast (for Charles had been adamant that Hank McCoy would be a necessary accomplice for any potential break-in) from their lair, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he gave her arm a friendly squeeze as he took hold of it, placing his other hand on the professor’s shoulder. Hank grabbed hold of Mystique’s other hand, and she turned her head in a frown Azazel couldn’t quite decipher as he whisked them two thousand miles across the country.

Emma and Angel were sitting on the sofa in the floral-patterned domesticity of the house the Brotherhood were hiding out in, but they leapt to their feet when the four other mutants appeared with a pop.

“You did it!” Angel said, voicing the congratulatory surprise that Azazel himself hadn’t quite managed to articulate. Mystique shrugged, but a flash of pride crossed her blue face nonetheless.

“I can’t stand by and allow fellow mutants to be tortured any more than you can.” Charles said, in measured tones that Azazel didn’t quite trust. He knew from Mystique that Xavier could be a bit of a slippery bugger. Charles glanced at Mystique. “But you said something about proof?” She nodded, and looked at Emma.

A moment later, the door opened, and Janos entered, pushing a man in front of him. The stranger’s head was bowed, and his hands bound behind his back. He shuffled along, barely acknowledging those around him, and Azazel saw Charles’ face fill with compassion. He snorted, turning away as Mystique explained.

“He works at the facility where they’re holding Eri- Magneto.” She explained, and Azazel wondered at her slip. “We spent a long time tracking countless employees, until we found one who had actually seen him.” Emma spoke for the first time, her smooth pale face wrinkled with distaste.

“He witnessed almost everything.” She said coldly. Riptide threw the man in front of the wheelchair, and Charles nodded, placing his fingers on the man’s temples.

_Al O’Brien was a third generation Irish immigrant. Nearly forty, he was married with two kids – Keira and Killian, both a credit to his name – and had the life he felt his grandparents had always dreamed of. He worked in security for a government facility in Denver, and he did a good job. The projects he was worked on were sometimes medical, sometimes military, but they always served to protect the country and its people. He was proud of his country. He was proud to be American!_

_Al had also been proud when he’d been assigned to the highest priority project in the venue. An issue of national importance! He’d been told. Top secret, of course. He hadn’t even told his wife, Tina. There had been rumours in the building for a while, so he’d already considered the possibility that the terrorist they called Magneto was hidden under several floors of concrete. And, although he’d felt a little sick at the thought of coming into contact with that much evil, part of him had wanted the celebrity of seeing the notorious mutant._

_Before then, Al had never met a mutant – not that he knew of, anyway. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect of them – although he knew they were all evil, of course! When he looked into the cold dead eyes of Magneto, he knew he was looking at a killer, and he had no sympathy for the plight of the man – no thing! – bound hand and foot to a table. The bandages around the bruised and bleeding head did nothing to stir any emotion in Al. Indeed, knowing that this was not only a mutant but also a terrorist (and probably a Communist too – everything Al most feared and dreaded!), Al had actually enjoyed watching as his new superior – the frankly rather odd Dr. Fischer – sliced Magneto open._

_He felt no pity as the skin was flayed from the mutant’s chest; did not even flinch when the thing could no longer control its reactions and let out an agonised scream as flesh and muscle were ripped back to expose the inner workings of its body. Instead, Al thought, this was a just retribution for all the suffering Magneto had caused (although Al was not really sure what he had done, he knew it was bad because his employers had told him so). More than that, though, it was retribution for the mutant’s cursed existence. A damnation here on earth, that was what they were! Al looked down at the half-dissected body beneath him and, hidden behind his mask, he smiled._

Charles was breathing hard when he returned to the room, arms falling away from Al’s face as if he couldn’t bear to touch the man any longer than was necessary. His eyes were red and wet: with pain? Anger? He didn’t say anything at first but then, slowly, Al raised his head. His expression was strangely triumphant, suddenly.

“He deserved it.” He said, his eyes glittering. “He deserved it all and more. And so do you – you fucking freak!”

Before anyone else could intervene, Charles had punched him in the face.

**

Hitting the odious security guard did not, unfortunately, make Charles feel any better. He winced as he shook his hand, knuckles split and bruised. There was silence around him: a host of faces focused in on Charles in a mixture of surprise and relief and – in Mystique’s case – more than a little pride. Yet, although Al was now slumped, unconscious, across Charles’ feet, the images he had taken from the man still remained, poisoning Charles’ mind. He felt sick, unable to escape the vision of his former lover, splayed – naked and helpless – on some sadistic anatomical table. And Al had been here more than a few days, he knew. What would they have done to Erik since? He raised a hand to his forehead, massaging it.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Mystique said, laying a blue hand on his arm. She didn’t question him about _what_ he’d seen. She’d already heard a little from Emma, and decided she would rather remain in ignorance of a torture so bad it had made Charles – who regularly claimed to detest violence – knock the messenger unconscious. Charles laid a hand over hers, squeezing her fingers briefly.

“I asked you to show me.” He said. “Now, how do we get him out of there?”

The Brotherhood had already, it seemed, gained a considerable amount of information on the building’s layout from Al the security guard. However, he was infuriatingly unfamiliar with the technical detail of the mutant safeguards – simply because he had never had cause to worry about where the equipment was even placed, let alone how it worked or what it did. Emma and Angel had gone out to try and canvas additional workers (Hank’s suggestion that the firm who created the technology was probably an external contractor turned out to be a good one); while Azazel and Mystique gathered what additional plans they could steal in less heavily-guarded archives. Charles, meanwhile, helped Hank with the equipment they would need to counter the security system – _both_ levels of it.

It was laborious and exhausting work and, by the time the sun began to rise, they were still not ready. Charles suggested they should get a few hours sleep. After all, they would be no good to Erik if they were too tired to fight.

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Charles found himself unable to drop off: despite the luxury of getting the floral sofa all to himself, while the others squeezed into whatever space they could find in the rest of the now rather cosy dwelling. Images of Erik – bound and tortured – swam in front of his eyes and, in the end, he tried to carry on studying the plans instead.

But he couldn’t work either, he found. After his eyes travelled over the same small area of the plan over and over without taking anything in, he gave up and let his mind drift instead.

The awful thing was that, for a moment, he had been almost _jealous_ that Al had been there with Erik. If he tried, he could focus on the image before the scalpel began to do its work, and there was Erik – restrained, face bruised and bleeding but a fire still raging in his eyes, glaring pure defiance at his captors. Charles loved him for that. He sighed, and tried to change the pictures in his head. The ropes slithered from Erik’s limbs, the background softened and blurred, and there was Erik: lying naked on Charles’ bed back in Westchester. He grinned, impossibly wide, and Charles couldn’t help but smile back.

Reclining on the garish sofa, Charles let the papers slip from his fingers onto the floor, his cock stiffening in his pants as, in his head, Erik reached out an arm towards him. Charles bit his lip – determinedly stifling the knowledge that this was an entirely inappropriate place and time to masturbate, and instead allowing his fingers to stroke the outline of his erection through the fabric of his undergarments. In his mind, he was kissing Erik, hands sliding over the firm muscle of Erik’s chest, gasping into Erik’s mouth. As Charles let his fingertips slide into his underpants, he felt the tension leave him, transported as he was to happier times. Erik’s caress was loving, their kisses carefree – despite their knowledge of what was to come with Shaw. They had thought, then, that no matter what the outcome they would still have each other.

Charles refused to let the memories become bittersweet. Instead, he wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself more urgently now, as the memories continued to run through his mind. He recalled him and Erik tumbling together in the grass outside the mansion. It had started as a race that Charles had tried to win by pulling Erik down an ornamental slope. But Erik clung onto him so that they rolled, laughing, down the hill together and the wrestling became a tug of war with each other’s clothing instead.

“You’re a terrible cheat, Charles!” Erik had chuckled, finally managing to pin Charles down beneath him, his hands sliding up Charles’ tracksuit top. Charles grinned back at him, inveigling a hand into Erik’s pants.

“What are you complaining for?” He asked. Erik gasped as Charles’ questing fingers found his cock, teasing it to hardness.

“Oh, not – not complaining...” He ran a hand through Charles’ hair, raising his face for a kiss.

Charles’ hand was moving faster, pumping himself firmly as he neared orgasm, so that he let the memories spill over him in short, messy bursts. He and Erik in the grassy hollow, tracksuits discarded now, Charles’ knees drawn up almost to his shoulders as Erik buggered him.

The morning when he’d feigned seriousness on entering the crowded kitchen. “Erik, I need to talk to you in private for a moment, please.” He’d said, and even Erik had been fooled by his tone, until Charles shoved him through the doorway of the next room they came to (which happened to be a broom closet) and pinned him up against the wall to kiss him.

The day before Cuba, when what had started out as a game of chess had somehow ended with Charles on his knees, Erik’s cock in his mouth... Charles gasped faintly, his tongue flickering between his lips. He could almost taste it... could almost feel...

A floorboard creaked just across the room, and Charles’ eyes shot open in panic, just as he ejaculated with an incoherent groan.

“Shit!” He tried to twist his body away from the intruder, in a futile effort to retain some kind of dignity, but of course his bloody legs wouldn’t go the way his mind wanted them to and he ended up, red-faced, hastily shoving his cock back into his pants with very sticky fingers.

Laughing, Mystique threw him a pack of tissues.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She explained. “I was thinking about Erik.” She paused for a second, a slight smirk still playing across her face. “You were too, I see.” Charles’ face went an even deeper shade of crimson.

“You must think I’m a terrible person.” He said. Mystique shrugged.

“Charles, I’ve seen you use your powers – and the most _hideous_ chat-up lines – to get countless men and women into bed. I _know_ you’re a terrible person!” Her voice was surprisingly light – friendlier than he’d heard it in years. Charles swallowed, wiping his hand on a tissue.

“But after the things I saw today... What they’ve done to him...” He tried to clarify his thoughts. Mystique’s manner didn’t change, her blue features kind and open.

“Then it’s even more important to remember the good times.” She said. “Hope – remember Charles? You taught me that. If we’re to stand any chance of rescuing him, we need to hope.” She smiled, padding bare-foot across the room to sit opposite Charles. Dumbly, Charles nodded. He wondered when she’d gotten so grown up.

“I thought you’d stopped caring about him until you punched that human.” She said softly. This explained her change in attitude, at any rate. But then she said something Charles had never expected to hear in a million years. “He still loves you, you know.”

“What?” Charles’ voice was thick. “H-how do you know?”

Shit Xavier! He thought. You really fucked that one up! If he’d thought even for a moment that Erik... but would he really have acted any differently? Would loving Charles have been enough to absolve Erik of all those deaths?

It made him a horribly selfish person, Charles figured, that ultimately it really _did_ make all the difference.

“I love Erik.” Mystique went on sadly. “But I realised long ago that he’d never feel about me as he did about you.” She chewed her lip. “You know I went to bed with him as you, once upon a time?” Charles started, not sure which part of that scenario was the most wrong.

“You did _what_?” He gaped. She laughed at his reaction.

“I never did it again.” She shrugged.

“Good!” Charles said fervently. And then, in a sudden attack of twisted paranoia, he added. “He didn’t like it?” Mystique snorted.

“He liked it a bit too fucking much!” She said. She shook her head. “I spent my whole life failing to live up to you, Charles. And to think that would continue even when you weren’t around? I hated you for that, for a while.” She sighed. “But there are more important things to worry about now.” She narrowed her eyes suddenly. “Charles?”

“Mmm?” He was finding her rapid mood changes rather difficult to follow, but he still kept his promise.

“If we find him alive... just don’t fucking hurt him again, okay?” Charles was more than a little taken aback.

“I rather think Erik can look after himself.” He said stiffly, thinking this oddly overprotective of a man who had probably killed more people single-handed than everyone else in that building put together. Mystique’s eyes flashed yellow.

“Mostly he can.” She said solemnly. “Just not around you.”

**

Erik’s world faded in and out, in short, dazed bursts of consciousness. He was beyond wondering why he was still alive. It was a medical facility, after all – they had the drugs, the equipment and the transfusions to keep him going far longer than he would have done elsewhere. He rather thought his heart might have stopped at least once already, but they’d fought to resuscitate him. He wasn’t sure, though. Wasn’t even sure how long he’d been there, in that white, windowless room. It all blurred into one long haze of pain. At times, it was sharp and burning; at others dull, throbbing, a never-ending ache.

In the beginning, he’d tried to remain defiant. No matter what, he’d told himself, he wouldn’t give his captors the satisfaction of screaming. He wasn’t sure how long he’d managed to keep that up but now, he didn’t much care about pride. Sometimes he’d screamed until he was hoarse. Sometimes he’d sobbed. He thought once or twice he might even have begged. But nothing made a difference and, by now, he was too delirious to be sure _what_ he was doing half the time.

“Mutants are all so wonderfully hardy!” A gleeful voice rang in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was here now, or something from another occasion – a few hours ago? A few _days_? Strange, giggling laughter echoed around him. “A human would _never_ have lasted this long.”

“Charles...” Erik wasn’t sure where the word came from, forced through his numb, cracked lips. But perhaps he had said it before, for there was another laugh.

“Charles isn’t gonna save you, honey.” A jolt of electricity burst through him, and Erik bit into a tongue already macerated from the countless times he had done this before.

Sometimes, Erik thought there were other people there – people he recognised. Emma and Angel drifted on the fringes of his vision. Once, Hank McCoy seemed to be stitching him up. _Do I think this will work? Well, anything’s possible, Erik!_ Hank had assured him, with his trademark awkward uncertainty. But mostly, it was Charles and Mystique who loitered around the room, perpetually confusing him by turning into each other, alternately saving and abandoning him. _You’re only getting what you deserve, Erik; they can’t do this to you! Use your powers, Magneto! Break free!_

But Erik couldn’t use his powers. They had so entirely left him that he hadn’t even noticed, at first, when the ban on metal instruments had been relaxed. Presumably that had been part of the experiment. One day, his eyes flickered open to see light glinting off a metal scalpel as it sliced into him. Slowly, he came to realise that many of the instruments, ticking and hissing around him, must have metal components. But he couldn’t feel any of them. They were no more connected to him than the solid wooden table on which he lay. Maybe it was the pain, the blood loss and the trauma; maybe they had somehow found a way – severed a nerve, fried a synapse – that took his abilities away from him entirely. But Erik didn’t much care.

He knew by then that he was going to die.

There was a burst of noise – like the echo of an explosion – across the room, but Erik barely even registered it. His eyelids flickered as he dimly saw a seated figure in the doorway. Was it really even there? He wondered numbly, as it glided closer – was it floating?

“Oh God...” He heard. Erik knew that voice. It was Charles! Or was it Mystique? They did insist on confusing him so. Erik opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t seem to speak: a dry rattle came from his throat, and a stream of bloody saliva ran unheeded over his chin.

“Oh God, Erik!” Charles repeated, by now at Erik’s side, his eyes impossibly wide and blue, not that far above Erik’s own. Maybe, Erik thought, this was it: the end. If he’d had to choose any form for an angel to take, it would certainly be Charles! He wanted to laugh at this but he couldn’t, gurgling hideously once again.

“My friend, I’m so sorry.” Charles’ voice was full of feeling: pain, horror, sympathy, guilt, regret. He reached out a hand and laid it on Erik’s forehead, stroking the palm down Erik’s face to close his eyes. Mercifully, Erik lost consciousness.

**

Charles allowed himself a mere twenty seconds to come to terms with the full horror of what he had seen on entering the lab. Erik – his friend, his lover (such tiny words that could never encompass the full enormity of what Erik meant to him) – hacked and slashed and stitched back together like a corpse after an autopsy. His head had been shaved and a dressing (as Charles discovered later) covered a hole drilled into his skull. It didn’t seem possible that Erik could still be alive, but then his eyelids flickered, muscles trembling in the bonds that had rubbed angry sores into his flesh, and Charles bit back tears of pain. He could feel Erik’s agony from the other side of the room.

Swallowing the bile in his throat, Charles wheeled himself closer, his movements clumsy, feeling as if he were forcing his way into a fog of suffering as the anguish rolling off Erik in waves increased in intensity the closer he got. _He_ had done this. He, Charles, had delivered Erik to be crucified; tortured in ways he didn’t have to imagine because he could see it all, quite plainly, without even being near enough to touch Erik. When he reached the table, Charles couldn’t bear to reach out, for a moment; didn’t think he could stand the pain. Biting his lip, he stared into Erik’s bruised and bloody face, Erik’s pale blue eyes silently begging him to: what? He remembered Erik’s words, back when they’d last met. _She begged us to kill her. In the end, that’s all we could do._ Tears in his eyes, Charles reached out and sent Erik to sleep.

The pain lingered in Charles’ mind, accompanied by confused and broken images of Erik’s torture – of the laughter of his captors, of the glee they had felt as they tore him open... Charles felt rage building inside him and, for once in his life, he let it happen. He had betrayed Erik – but so had he been betrayed himself! By the whole stinking human race!

There was a noise behind him, and Charles turned his chair. The guard entering the room hit the floor before he could even raise his gun. Four more, pelting in behind, went flying, their minds broken, limbs splayed as they careered across the tiled floor. Charles raised his arms – an entirely unnecessary gesture that, although Charles didn’t realise it at the time, echoed Erik at his most destructive – and cast his mind wider through the building. Anger, pain, fear: he broadcast it all.

In the corridors, men and women pinned themselves, gibbering, to the walls, raving in sheer terror. Others crawled, nails scraping the tiles, trying to drag themselves free of the agonising pain of being flayed alive. In systems and maintenance rooms around the building, staff rampaged, destroying everything around them in a furious frenzy, not stopping as the wail of the fire alarms spoke of their damage and the sprinkler system kicked into action.

There was an explosion, somewhere in the building, as the damage worsened, and the walls shook. Charles barely noticed, holding his arms wide: flinging all the fear and agony he had taken from Erik, bound together with his own rage, flowing through him in a rush that was almost exhilarating. The power he felt was incredible. He could go beyond the building. He could...

“Charles!” A broken shriek from the doorway as Mystique dragged herself through it, pain etched onto her features. “Charles, you’ve got to stop!” A tear detached itself from one yellow eye. “Charles...” She pleaded brokenly.

Through everything, Charles could feel her pain, but it took him a long moment to realise that he himself was causing it. He stared into her eyes, and they begged him to end it just as Erik’s had done. His vision blurred, the tears returning, as he finally lowered shaking arms, pulled himself back to the here and now. Mystique collapsed, sobbing, to the floor, and Charles was at her side in a moment.

“Raven, oh God, I’m sorry...” He reached out to her, but she raised a hand to push him away.

“I’m fine!” She hissed, though her teeth were gritted. “Go to Erik, Charles. We’ve got to get him out of here before anyone recovers!”

Charles nodded. Although, with a growing sense of guilt, he wondered how many people in that building _would_ in fact recover.


	4. Resolution

They kept Erik in a coma for a little under two weeks. The first time Charles tried to ease him out of it, every inch of metal in the room bent and twisted: wires snapped and fuses blew, and they narrowly avoided an explosion before Hank rushed to jab a needle into Erik’s arm. This was also when Hank, in an unusual display of assertiveness, demanded that Charles get some sleep. Most of the time, Charles had kept Erik unconscious himself: feeling that it had to be better for him than adding more chemicals to a system already damaged by the countless abuses it had suffered. After Erik nearly brought the house down, Charles finally relented and grudgingly allowed Hank to assist him. Nonetheless, he continued to sleep little – and, when he did, it was generally in a chair by Erik’s bed.

The Brotherhood were distinctly annoyed that Charles was monopolising Erik’s care. Mystique had insisted that Azazel transport them all to the mansion after they had escaped from the bunker in Denver, and they had arrived mid-afternoon, much to the surprise of all the staff and students. Hank and Mystique carried Erik – still on the table he’d been strapped to for the past month and lying on an oil cloth stiff with blood – inside and immediately set about doing as much for his wounds as they could. When Erik’s eyelids flickered and, without warning, he cried out, Charles had come running. And he’d been at Erik’s side ever since.

“If it wasn’t for _him_ ,” Emma protested angrily. “None of this would ever have happened!”

“Well, do _you_ want to go and tell Charles that?” Mystique snapped. Emma, who had been in the facility and just as helpless as the rest of them when Charles had used the full limits of his power, scowled sulkily and took a step back.

“Exactly!” Mystique was triumphant.

“She does have a point, though.” Angel, who was sitting on a nearby desk in the former classroom, swinging her legs nonchalantly, “Is it really a good idea that the first thing Magneto will see when he wakes up is the face of his enemy?” Mystique shook her head. She flashed a look at Hank, seeking his support. Hank, who was just about the only person at the school who tolerated being in the same room as the Brotherhood (presumably for Mystique’s benefit) looked away with awkward shyness when he caught her eye and pretended to be engrossed in his book. She sighed.

“There’s no one Magneto would want to see _more_ than Charles, believe me.” She tried to sound certain although she didn’t expect them to believe her.

“What, just because they used to _screw_ each other?” Emma’s words were scathing. Mystique scowled. Trust Emma to spill the beans! She wondered vaguely how long the telepath had known: if not from Magneto, from Mystique herself. Well, she figured. They’d _all_ know soon enough. She had no doubt that Charles and Erik would soon be reunited and the world would be right once more.

At Emma’s words, Hank had dropped his book and, although he quickly turned his head as he bent to pick it up, she could see that his ears had gone red with embarrassment. Azazel merely raised a questioning eyebrow at Mystique, so she nodded.

“ _Really?!”_ Angel burst into peals of delighted laughter. “Magneto and Professor X were _fuck buddies_?” Azazel was more serious.

“But that was long ago, no?” He said solemnly, “Since then, the Professor has betrayed his old friend.”

“Yes,” Emma’s voice was as sharp as her diamond skin could be. “We never did discuss how that happened, did we?”

Mystique shook her head. She tried her best to think of _anything_ other than her conversation with Charles about just that issue, but Emma’s icy, tinkling laugh told her how utterly she had failed.

“He _seduced_ him?” Emma echoed Mystique’s own former words with obvious amusement. “How delightfully quaint!”

Despite Emma’s laughter, Mystique suddenly realised that all of the Brotherhood were standing now, and had advanced towards her during this exchange without her having noticed. She took a step back, immediately sensing revolt.

“If you knew that...” Angel said. She was no longer laughing. “How can you still think Magneto is safe with your lying shit of a brother?”

“She’s blind to his many, _many_ faults.” Emma explained, “I say we take things into our own hands and liberate Magneto.”

Mystique swallowed, glancing along the row of advancing figures. Four against one... unless? Azazel was a step behind the others – Emma, Angel and Riptide were all resolutely defiant.

“Azazel?” She said, searching for back-up. He shook his head.

“I take no part in this.” He said, taking another step away. “I never hurt you, Mystique. But I cannot think that Magneto is safe with the Professor.”

The next second, a foot made of diamonds connected with her jaw, and Mystique stumbled sideways, her own leg snapping out to try and brace herself against the door frame. But, before she could attempt to fight back, there was a snarl and a blue-furred figure careered into Emma, hurling her across the room. Hank McCoy, Beast once more, flashed Mystique a rather incongruously shy smile. She grinned back, and they turned to fight together.

But, just at that moment, a piercing shout rang out along the corridor, closely followed by a racing Sean.

“It’s Magneto! He’s awake!”

**

When Erik opened his eyes, Charles had a second of sheer panic. This, he knew, was the moment he’d been waiting for, but what could he say? A million questions span through his head. _Can you ever forgive me? Do you remember what happened to you? Do you hate me?_ In the end, he settled for the simplest.

“How are you feeling?” Erik moved his shoulders a fraction under the white sheets.

“I’ve had better days.” He said, his voice scratchy. His eyes flickered around the room, taking the place in. However, the first comment he made, with a slight frown, was. “There’s a metal plate in my head.” Charles nodded.

“They drilled a hole in your skull.” He said. To his surprise, the corners of Erik’s mouth twisted in the beginnings of a smile.

“I thought they’d destroyed my powers.” He said, still sounding a little sluggish. Charles managed to smile back, and then Erik added, his words clearer. “So, you finally had your way and got me back to the mansion, eh?”

“As soon as you’re fit enough, you’re welcome to leave. There’s no need for you to stay here.” Charles’ tone was solemn. He didn’t add, _unless you’d like to_ , but felt the words hang in the air between them all the same.

“So, I suppose that’s twice you’ve saved my life.” Erik said slowly. Charles felt a wrench, wondering how he was ever going to live with the guilt.

“That hardly excuses me for endangering it in the first place.” He said stiffly. Erik inclined his head slightly.

“I suppose not.”

“I don’t even know how to _begin_ to say I’m s-“ Charles wanted to apologise all the same, but Erik interrupted him, managing to raise a hand to wave it impatiently and then wincing as the needle in the back of it tore a little.

“Then don’t.” He said. “Even at the worst moments, I always knew you’d never have agreed to _that_.”

“I should have guessed.” Charles had told himself this so many times. “I should have _checked_!” Then, Erik’s oddly Zen manner disconcerting him, he said. “How can you be so _calm_?” Erik gave a thin smile.

“I suppose it’s the morphine.” His words were a little teasing. There was a pause. Charles felt as if there was so much he had to say to Erik, so much to _admit_ to that he hardly knew where to start.

“I did a lot of things I never thought I’d do, that day.” He said. “To save you, I mean.” Erik raised an eyebrow.

“Killed a few evil tea boys, did you Charles?”

“Something like that.” Charles paused, chewing his lip. “You know, it’s funny, I never realised before how different my powers are from yours. Usually, I experience things second-hand: through other people’s thoughts, their memories... rarely the heat of the moment.” He paused, but Erik didn’t say anything, so he went on. “But that day, when I entered that room and saw you- you _opened up_ , like some dreadful textbook anatomy illustration...” He swallowed, his voice thick, not wanting to think about Erik’s mutilated body, even though the evidence was right there in front of him: the bandages wrapped around Erik’s head, the remnants of bruising down his cheekbone, the wires that hooked him up to the support necessary to keep him going...

“I suppose I feel like I understand you a little better.” Charles went on. “All the things I did... I didn’t even know I _could_ do half of them! The next five people who came through the doors after I saw you, I killed them – just like that. Reached into their minds and I- I just _snapped_ something. I can’t even explain how I knew what to do. I was just lashing out, I suppose.” Charles looked down at his hands, swallowing hard. “All I knew was that someone had done this to you and - and I wanted them to _pay_ for it.”

“Welcome to my world.” Erik said wryly. And, as simply as that, Charles knew that Erik had forgiven him. They remained in silence for a moment, and then Charles laid his hand on the blanket, lightly touching Erik’s fingers.

“You were right all along.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Erik’s eyes widened a little, and he stared up at Charles for a moment, then moved his hand slightly, fingers curling around Charles’. Charles gave him a sad smile.

“Oh, don’t think I’ve given up hope, Erik.” He went on. “I can hardly live with what I did. All those people...” He blinked back tears of shame. Looking after Erik had helped him avoid the news reports. He didn’t even know for sure how many people he’d killed. But he knew there was rather less of a difference between Erik’s body count and his own than there had been a few short weeks ago. “I still think there has to be a better way.” He said. “But I can’t discount war as a possibility, not any longer.”

Erik nodded, his fingers moving slowly, stroking Charles’ hand. Dammit, Charles thought, Erik was the one who’d been tortured – it shouldn’t be Erik reassuring _him_.

“I’m sorry.” He said, “This is too much. You’re tired.” Erik’s eyelids flickered. His face was worn from his experiences, and it was clear he needed rest, but there was something he wanted to ask.

“My father, Charles,” He said hoarsely, “Is he really alive?” Charles nodded.

“I may have lied to you about many things, Erik, but not that.” He paused for a second. “We could get in touch with him. Bring him here.”

Erik shook his head rather too violently, and then winced.

“No, not like this. It’s too close to...” He bit his lip. “I’ve waited all these years – I can wait another month.” He sighed a little, eyes half-closed. Charles squeezed his hand this time, so that Erik managed a sleepy smile.

“I could use a few pleasant dreams, Charles...” He murmured. Charles raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes? Any particular preference, or shall I surprise you?” He wondered. Erik thought for a moment, but it didn’t surprise Charles when he went for Charles’ personal favourite.

“The night before Cuba.” He said.

“That was a long night!” Charles chuckled a little. “Which part?”

“Mmm... There you _can_ surprise me...” Erik’s voice was sighing, his eyes closed. Charles raised his hand to place his fingers on Erik’s right temple, his palm curved around Erik’s face, stroking his cheek.

**

_Erik reclined across Charles’ bed, the cool evening air ruffling the curtains behind him. He was naked, grinning up at Charles, his smile ridiculously wide. Charles was standing by the dresser, clad only in his underwear. He grinned back at Erik, taking a sip from a glass of champagne that he thought was very well deserved._

_“So, for once I beat you at chess without even using my powers!” He said triumphantly. Erik raised an eyebrow._

_“Maybe you didn’t try and read my mind.” He agreed. “But you certainly distracted me with... certain other powers.” Charles giggled a little in response, slightly drunk on a mixture of champagne, spirits and the heady joy of a full evening together._

_“What, the power of sucking cock?” He asked, adding in exaggeratedly theatrical tones. “The most devastating mutation in existence!” Erik chuckled, blue eyes dancing, and then he stretched slowly._

_“Are you going to stand over there all night?” He said. Charles’ mouth twitched mischievously._

_“I assure you, I could still give you a night to remember, darling!” He put down the glass, staring into Erik’s eyes as he raised his forefinger to his temple._

_Erik groaned, eyes closing in pleasure, cock stiffening. Charles practically bounded across the room, diving onto the bed more or less on top of Erik. Without opening his eyes, Erik reached out, his hands finding Charles’ shoulders, then running up the back of his neck. He pulled Charles’ head towards him, kissing him fiercely._

_They lost themselves for a long while in a kiss that tasted faintly of whiskey – a tiny reminder of an earlier, more serious conversation at the start of the game of chess. This hint of what was to come, of what they might conceivably lose the following day, only served to increase their passion, both eagerly exploring each other’s bodies. Charles’ fingers tightened on Erik’s broad shoulders, while Erik’s hands slid smoothly down Charles’ back, fingers coasting over every bump of his spine down to his waist._

_Erik didn’t break the kiss as his fingers slipped under the elastic of Charles’ pants, skimming over his buttocks, then squeezing them more firmly, pulling Charles’ groin towards him. Charles gasped into Erik’s mouth, his erection straining against his pants, a thin layer of fabric separating it from Erik’s own as he ground himself against him. He raised his head finally, lips pink and wet, eyes bright. Erik was tugging at Charles’ pants, impeded by the fact that Charles’ legs were straddling him._

_“Take your pants off, Charles!” He pleaded breathlessly. Charles obliged, grinning as he wriggled out of his underwear. He knelt over Erik, cock jutting out before him, and Erik licked his lips, eyes glistening with desire._

Turn over... _Charles nudged him with his mind, and Erik obligingly rolled onto his side. Charles lifted one leg over Erik’s body, relaxing down behind Erik. His hands ranged down Erik’s side, and he kissed the back of Erik’s neck, then his shoulder, as he ran his fingers along Erik’s thigh. Erik sighed softly._

_“Charles...” He breathed, and Charles felt something nudge against his hand – a tube of KY, the metal packaging hovering beside him. Charles laughed, feeling Erik’s own amusement, and he kissed Erik’s shoulder again as he opened the tube, coating his fingers. Charles ran his fingers, cool and wet, down the cleft between Erik’s buttocks, slowly sliding two fingers inside him, hearing Erik groan softly._

_It seemed at that moment, to both of them, as if the world would freeze around them. There would be no more fighting, no more war: just Charles easing his slick penis inside Erik, fucking him slowly, thoroughly. He sent every sensation to Erik and gathered his own in return, so that neither of them was really sure where each ended and the other began. It seemed as if nothing could ever separate them again: they were two parts of the same being; the world only made sense when they were together._

_Charles’ fingers, still smeared with a little lube, searched around Erik’s body, teasing at his erection, feeling Erik’s pleasure before he heard him moan. He quickened his movements, thrusting into Erik more urgently now, feeling Erik’s enjoyment build even as his own did. He screwed his eyes shut, wanting to concentrate on the thoughts, the feelings, hearing Erik murmur slightly, his body tense. And then Erik’s orgasm rocketed through him in tandem with his own: so intense that Charles almost screamed, his fingers tightening on Erik’s biceps as he ejaculated inside him._

_Afterwards, they lay in breathless silence for long minutes, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies, the peaceful afterglow of orgasm. Then Erik rolled over lazily onto his back, smiling up at Charles. A tumult of emotion rushed through Charles once again._

_“I love you.” He said, almost without realising he was voicing the words aloud. And Erik’s smile widened, but they both knew that he didn’t need to answer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The War on Love Song (lyrics)
> 
> There's a guy who comes to call, I think that he is fairly strange,  
> There are pieces in your life that you just have to rearrange.  
> And while you wait as I'll make you wait, you won't be sleeping much  
> Before I start to touch.
> 
> I get to play, I get to say the way we'll always be,  
> I make the law you'll beg me for the one that lets you see.  
> I have to win, define your skin and love your punishment,  
> Now I'm your state, and your ever-loving government.
> 
> They're gonna take you in the dawn  
> Before it gets too light  
> I'm gonna let them cut your clothes off  
> Put you on the flight  
> You'll come to me, I'll set you free  
> Take away your skin so there's no secrecy
> 
> I only need you to obey me like you ought to do  
> And tell me all the things I tell you like you know they're true  
> Then I can magnify my fears and make you scream all night  
> I'm gonna put this love around you  
> I'm gonna pull it so tight tight tight
> 
> They're gonna take you in the dawn  
> Before it gets too light  
> I'm gonna let them cut your clothes off  
> Put you on the flight  
> You'll come to me, I'll set you free  
> I'll get to take away your skin so there's no secrecy
> 
> I'm gonna make you last so long  
> We're gonna make you my love song
> 
> (Sons & Daughters/A.L. Kennedy, from the album 'Ballads of the Book')


End file.
